


The Accident

by supernaturallylost



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Normal Life, Car Accidents, Fluff, Fluff and Humor, Humor, Injured Castiel, M/M, Mechanic Dean, Nurse Castiel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-29
Updated: 2016-05-26
Packaged: 2018-04-05 19:32:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,487
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4192215
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/supernaturallylost/pseuds/supernaturallylost
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After Dean hits someone with his car miles from the nearest hospital, Sam convinces him to bring the stranger to their home until he's healed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Superman

“Shit shit shit,” he muttered quickly. He scratched the back of his neck several times.

“We should take him home,” Sam chimed from inside the car.

Dean groaned and paced in front of the impala’s now dented hood.

“No way,” he said firmly, avoiding eye contact. “There’s no way we’re bringing him to our house. What if he’s a serial killer?”

Sam waited until Dean’s eyes were on him before saying, “Dean, you hit him with your car.”

An agonized rumble came from deep in Dean’s throat.

“Yeah, but we should take him to the hospital or something,” he reasoned.

Sam shook his head.

“Dean, we don’t have the time. We’re closer to home than the hospital anyway. Besides, I can see from here that he’s fine. You just knocked him out, or maybe he passed out.”

Dean continued to pace, carefully sidestepping the body in front of the car.

“Hey,” Sam said louder. “Dean, you have to bring him home and take care of him until he can get on his feet. It should only take a day or two.”

Shaking his head Dean finally looked down at the body. Crumpled into a pathetically small ball was a man slightly shorter than the brothers. His dark hair just barely brushed against his eyebrows. His nose was bleeding and a bruise was already darkening on his forehead. Black dress pants were effectively ruined by rushing over the concrete for that last few feet after he’d hit the car, but his tan trench coat was perfectly intact.

“Dean,” Sam almost shouted. “What would Batman do? What would Iron Man do? What would Superman do?”

“Do you see a giant ‘S’ here?” Dean squeaked, gesturing to his chest.

“No, but I see a giant ass.” Sam rolled his eyes. “Put him in the back seat. We need to get home now or we’ll miss the phone call from Bobby.”

 

“Bobby!” Sam was laughing from the next room over. “No, we actually just got back.”

Dean sighed, squinted, and scratched his elbow. He sat in the lazy boy in front of the television before getting up and sitting down on the coffee table in front of the stranger. His thoughts moved frantically from one line to another to explain the situation once the man came to. Instead of landing on anything useful, however, the thoughts drifted into the new territory of whether the man really was a murderer or if he was some sort of drug-crazed addict.

“Dean’s in the other room right now,” Sam continued. Dean heard the sound of the refrigerator being opened, followed by the gasp of carbonation from a fresh can of lemon-lime pop. “Well, I’ll go ask him, but he’s kind-of got his hands full.”

Sam’s footsteps grew louder until his head was peeking over from the doorway to the kitchen.

“Hey Dean?” he said. “Bobby wants to know if you can come over tomorrow to get that new distributor cap you wanted.”

After a long inhale, Dean shrugged. “I guess so. It depends on this guy, doesn’t it?”

With a slow nod, Sam put the phone closer to his lips. “Yeah, Bobby, like I said, he’s got his hands full. I can probably make it out there tomorrow, if that works for you?”

“Why wouldn’t it work for him?” Dean asked himself.

 Quietly, Sam responded to Dean, “He actually has to show me where the parts are. If you went, it wouldn’t disrupt his business.”

“Rhetorical, Sammy,” Dean sighed grumpily.

With a roll of his eyes, he looked down at the man on the couch. Sam’s footsteps faded, though his voice still echoed down the hall.

“I’m just going to get my laptop, Bobby,” he was saying. “You can tell me all of the information now and I can get over there tomorrow afternoon. Dean will have to stop by later in the week if he needs anything else.”

Dean straightened up, stretched his neck, and noticed that the man in front of him was waking up. His eyes moved underneath his eyelids, his nose scrunched, and his chest constricted during a little whine from deep in his throat.

Hastily, Dean stood up. He looked quickly from one place in the room to another. Should he be sitting down or standing up? Should he have been there the whole time or should he just happen to be coming into the room now? Should he be the first thing the man sees or the second?

Just as he took one step sideways, however, the stranger’s eyes finally opened.

“Ah!” Dean jumped.

“Oh!” the stranger startled.

“Sorry! I’m sorry!” Dean said with his palms out.

“Oh,” the stranger said again, this time squinting as if he had a headache.

“Sorry,” Dean apologized for the third time. “Does your head hurt? Do you want some water?”

“What,” the stranger said flatly. Then, with confusion, “What?”

“Oh god,” Dean panicked. “Memory loss. This is bad. Do you know your name?”

“Castiel,” the man answered easily, wincing slightly. “My name is Castiel.”

Dean tilted his head as he judged whether memory loss could be crossed off of the list of injuries he had mentally prepared. After another few moments, he sat down on the coffee table and clasped his hands in front of him.

“My name is Dean Winchester,” he started. “I hit you with my car about twenty minutes ago on country road seventeen. Do you remember being there?”

Castiel squinted, blinked quickly, and nodded.

“Good,” Dean sighed like the release of a pressure valve. “Do you remember being hit by my car?”

“A black 1967 Chevrolet Impala?” the man answered formally. “I didn’t damage it, did I?”

Dean’s mouth opened and closed.

“I think my nose is bleeding. Do you have a tissue so I don’t get this on your couch?”

Dean struggled to nod. Blankly, he reached over to the bottom shelf of the coffee table and pulled out a box of generic brand tissues.

“Thank you,” Castiel smiled. He slowly put the tissue to his nose and tipped his head backward.

“So,” Dean began. His brow was furrowed and his thoughts immediately ran to symptoms of brain damage. “How are you feeling?”

“Like I was just hit by a car,” he answered honestly. “You have very good aim, by the way. I was standing several feet from the center of the road.”

Dean blushed. “Well, Sam distracted me.”

“Is Sam your boyfriend?” Castiel asked stuffily, breathing through his mouth.

“What? No, no,” he said. “He’s my kid brother.”

The man nodded once.

“You seem very tense. If you’re worried about a lawsuit, don’t be. As far as I can tell, it’s just my nose and the bump from when my head hit the ground. I couldn’t afford a lawyer anyway.”

“Well, I’m not worried about that,” Dean spoke indignantly. “I want to make sure you’re okay. I mean, you were hit by a huge metal beast. Just because you seem alright now doesn’t mean you are; you could have internal bleeding or something, you know?”

“Sorry if I offended you,” Castiel said quietly. Then he pursed his lips in thought for a moment before saying, “I don’t have any internal bleeding.”

“How can you tell?” Dean asked skeptically.

“I’m a nurse,” he answered easily. “I have to know these things. Of course, I could be in shock, and therefore oblivious to further damage, or the internal bleeding could be in stasis for the moment but coming closer to escaping its dormant phase.”

Dean’s eyes widened and his face paled.

“But I don’t think so,” Castiel finished. “I feel fine, albeit tired and a little bit hazy. The headache isn’t great either.”

“Oh,” Dean said lamely. “Um. Can I get you anything?”

Castiel shook his head gently.

“I don’t want to take up any more of your time.” He made a motion as if he intended to stand. “I should call a cab to take me home now.”

“No, no. Let me drive you home,” Dean insisted. “It’s the least I can do.”

“Will you be offended if I don’t entirely trust your driving ability?” he smiled.

Blushing again, Dean gave a breathy laugh.

“Fair enough. Really, though, I don’t mind you being here for a while. You look a bit woozy still, and I don’t send anyone away from here without dinner and a box of leftovers.”

“Well, I’d hate to impose.” Castiel squirmed uncomfortably for a moment. “I do feel hungry, however.”

“Then it’s settled,” Dean clapped. “You can stay until you feel better, and then I’ll drive you home.”

Castiel gave him a smiling, blue-eyed look.

“Okay,” Dean nodded. “Sam will drive you home.”

The man smiled. He reached out a hand.

“It’s nice to meet you, Dean.”

Dean took his hand.

“And you, Cas.”


	2. Date Night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cas is actually totally okay after the car accident, but hey. It's a date opportunity for Dean. :)

Don’t get too close.

A hole in the ground, an edge of a cliff, a lightning storm, the highway… Dean had heard the warning under several circumstances. It meant stay away, or it meant use caution, or it meant watch this because it’s going to be awesome. On that day, he heard the phrase again and it meant something new. This time it meant please, for the love of god, do not look at me.

“Don’t get too close,” Castiel said. He was rushing down the hallway, fresh from the shower and wearing nothing but a towel. “I’m so sorry!”

Dean snorted when he saw Cas’s arms flailing around as he ran for the laundry room to grab his clean clothes from the dryer. The towel was slipping, despite Cas’s prayers for it to remain attached.

“Dean!” Sam scolded quietly, slapping his brother’s arm from out of sight. Dean grinned at his brother. “You hit him with your car; the least you can do is give him a little privacy.”

“I made him dinner,” Dean shrugged. “We’re even now.”

Sam rolled his eyes and put his head in his hands while Dean looked back down the hallway at Cas, who was hastily grabbing onto his towel with one hand while the other grabbed the clothes from the drying machine.

Cas hurried back to the bathroom and closed the door behind him, and Dean snorted once again. He looked at Sam and winked. A few minutes later, Castiel came out of the bathroom fully clothed and understandably embarrassed.

“I’m so sorry about that,” he blushed. “I thought I’d already brought the clothes into the bathroom with me.”

“Don’t worry about it, Cas,” Sam said around the laughing form of his older brother.

“So,” Cas said, like it was an entire sentence.

“Well, dinner’s ready,” Dean chuckled. “Are you still feeling alright? Has the Tylenol kicked in yet?”

“Yes, thank you very much,” Cas smiled.

It was an awkward silence. Dean was still internally laughing at the image of Cas running down the hallway, Sam was still sitting at the kitchen table with a book in front of him while pitying Cas and trying to subtly scold his brother, and Cas was standing in the doorway of the kitchen wondering if a cab would even drive so far from town to pick him up after the meal. The silence lasted a full minute before Dean shifted his weight to his left foot from his right and he gestured to the table.

“Let’s eat,” he smiled.

Cas walked to the table, chose the seat beside Sam and across from Dean, and waited for Dean to place whatever he’d made before them. In fact, Dean had made a beautiful seared duck leg with a small mashed potato bed and a light arugula salad with a citrusy dressing. When Sam raised his eyebrow, Dean shrugged and said, “Ina Garten was on today.”

“Who’s that?” Cas asked, inhaling deeply.

“A chef, I think,” Dean answered absently. He was deliberating on something, with his back turned to the table. Finally, with a thud, he placed a bottle of red wine on the table. “This should be perfect.”

Sam rolled his eyes again, folded down the corner of the page he was on in his book, and set the book on the ground. His long arm could reach the lower cupboards behind him, so he opened one and pulled out three wine glasses.

“You like duck?” Dean asked, placing the appetizing meal in front of each of them.

“Sure,” Cas answered. “I’m really very sorry for this inconvenience, though. Boxed macaroni would have been sufficient.”

“Never,” Dean shook his head seriously.

When he turned around to grab the only thing missing from the table (forks), Sam leaned to whisper to Cas.

“Dean loves Kraft,” Sam said secretively. Then he put a finger on his lips and winked.

“Dig in,” Dean smiled obliviously, handing them each a fork.

 

After devouring their gourmet meal, Dean properly packaged a box of leftover duck legs and potatoes for Castiel, keeping some of the leftover salad in a separate container.

“So,” Dean said, like he thought it was a complete sentence.

“Thank you, Dean,” Cas smiled. “I appreciate your generosity. I’ve taken up so much of your time, so I think it’s best that I leave now.”

“You could stay,” Dean offered. “We have… movies. You know, if you wanted to watch a movie or something. Or we have games…”

He rubbed the back of his neck.

“I mean,” Dean stammered, “I just hit you with my car a few hours ago, so I should really keep an eye on you to make sure you’re, uh, safe.”

“I don’t understand,” Cas responded. “Why would I not be safe? I’ve tended to the injury as much as I can, and if any problems do arise, they are more likely to occur later rather than sooner.”

Dean put his palm to his forehead.

“Well, um,” he said hopelessly.

“Ask him out,” Sam shouted from the kitchen.

Dean’s eyes were wide when he clenched his jaw and yelled back.

“Don’t you have a certain celebrity ballroom dance competition you need to watch right about now?”

Sam snorted loud enough for them to hear from the living room. When Dean turned back to face Castiel, he saw the man smiling.

“Anyway,” Dean squeaked, scratching the back of his bright red neck.

“I’d love to,” Castiel said, suppressing a smile. “What games do you have?”

 

“Can I kill him?”

“No, Dean.”

“Not even a little bit?”

“No, Dean.”

Cas’s leftovers were forgotten on the kitchen counter, along with his trench coat and tie. He sat in the living room with Dean, his white collared shirt slightly unbuttoned and the sleeves rolled up over his forearms. He was holding a small black controller for a gaming system. Beside him, Dean sat hunched over a similar blue controller with his eyes locked on one of the game’s NPCs.

“Stick in the mud,” Dean muttered, moving the controller around so he could move his character away from the temptation.

**Author's Note:**

> (Oops! Looks like someone's accidentally in love.)
> 
> Thanks for reading! Leave notes if you'd like!


End file.
